The Roommate Wars
by IceMice90
Summary: A university student being slowly driven mad by her roommates creates a blog with which to vent her frustration. This is what happens when you mix a Queen Bee, her whipped boyfriend, a B from the Bronx, a Racist, and a downright Creep. But there's good news: as far as you, the reader, are concerned, it's all fiction...
1. September

Thursday the 14th

Prologue: The Racist

So this whole thing started last fall when one of my three sweetmates, lets call her Queen Bee, announced that we would be getting a new roommate. This was because her last roommate, let's call her… The Racist, was moving out. Apparently, Queen Bee had driven her crazy. Not surprised. Not upset, either. Wish I were going.

My roommate, who we'll call My Creepy Roommate, knows someone who's looking for a new living situation. We met her and right away she seemed awesome. We'll refer to her as The Normal One.

So I went to study abroad in the spring and The Normal One moved in, so there were still only three people living in a four-person apartment. All well.

It's when I came back in the following fall that all the fun started.

* * *

Sunday the 16th

Identity Crisis

I'm rooming once again with My Creepy Roommate, while The Normal One rooms with Queen Bee. Queen thinks I'm too messy to room with. Lols. I'm not that messy, she's just OCD. She's also a vegetarian, a so-called feminist (which I doubt, as she's as unsupportive to the girls in her life as a bra made out of tissue paper) an asthmatic, a swimmer, 100% Italian, an only child whose parents spoil her, weighs under 100 lbs, and pink is her favorite color. No one cares about these things, but she likes to make a very strong impression on everyone she meets.

* * *

Friday the 21st

Thank God

The Normal One has informed me that she is glad I'm back because rooming with Queenie and Creepy all alone was terrible and, what a surprise, she thinks I'm normal, too!

I think we're gonna get along great.

* * *

Monday the 24th

Murder Most Fowl

Queen Bee has made a list of all her allergies and put it up on the fridge for everyone to admire. It's a long list. I didn't think anyone could be so proud of something like that. I took a look one day while rifling through the fridge for eggs and noted that a lot of the things on her list were names of drugs I'd never even heard of. Why would we need to know that? Does she just want to make sure we don't accidently poison her?

Well, one thing's for sure.

I know exactly what I'd need should I ever decide to poison her.

* * *

Tuesday the 27th

Cat-Ninja Burglar

I think Queenie is under the impression the rest of us have a severe mental deficiency. She insists that she sleeps in her own bed every night, not at her boyfriend's – but she doesn't. Frankly, Normal prefers having the room to herself, since Bee is so persnickety about when lights should be turned off and how warm the room should be. She thinks she owns the thermostat. Sometimes she cranks that puppy up to 90. What is she, a cactus? But I digress.

As I was saying, every night she'll take all her freakish stuffed animals off of her bed, turn down the covers, get into her jammies, and then go back downstairs, plop on the couch and wait for everyone to go to bed. She'll wait until 2 am if she has to. She'll say something like "I'll be up in a bit!" but she never is. Instead, she goes to her boyfriend's apartment. Fine, all well and good. Except every morning she'll wake up super-early, sneak back into to her room with cat-ninja-like stealth, slip neatly under the covers, and then pretend to wake up there ten minutes later. Normal is so baffled by Queenie's desire to lie about where she sleeps, but she thinks that calling her out on it would only make her think that she wants her back here during the weeknights. The only thing that bothers Normal is the fact that Queen Bee thinks she's dumb enough not to notice when she's not actually in their room. So she plays along. I figure she could use this against Queenie in some way in the future, though I have no idea how yet. She could say something like, "How 'bout that fire last night?" and see how Queenie reacts. Or bring up a make-believe conversation she tried to have with her at 3 am and ask why she had nothing to contribute.

Sometimes I'll see her come into the apartment at quarter to 6 because I've pulled an all-nighter. She'll stop in her tracks like she's just been caught burgling, her eyes wide and full of fear. Oh, and she always has one of her stuffed animals clutched under her arm. It's a different one every time. I feel bad for every one of them.


	2. October

Saturday the 6th

Trying To Sleep While They Get It On

It's the weekend, so Queen Bee is sleeping in her room with her boyfriend. The Normal One is regretting not setting her foot down about the weekends.

* * *

Wednesday the 10th

Naked Shame

I woke up this morning and immediately felt eyes on me.

I look towards the bed across the room and see Creepy Roommate sitting up just staring at me – into my soul, it seemed – with a blank-faced expression.

How long had she been doing that? At first I thought she was sleeping with her eyes open.

By now we'd been staring at one another from across the room for far too long for either one to suddenly say something like, "Oh, you're up! How'd you sleep?"

My throat was dry, so I did this eyes-closed smile thing and finally did say, "Morning!"

She blinked slowly.

I got out of bed, took a shower, and then came back into the room in my towel to find her in the same exact position.

I made a show of choosing some clothes from my closet so she'd know I was going to get changed, giving her the silent queue to occupy herself while I de-robed since the bathroom is far too small to change in. (We have this wonderful set-up where the sink is in the hallway, the toilet is in a closet, and the bathroom itself is literally just a narrow shower stall with two extra square feet of floor space in front of it.) I quickly glance over to see if she's modestly turned away or making to get up, but she's staring at my toweled body with that same blank-faced expression. I suppose she was just zoning out on the only moving target in the dimly-lit room, to tired to know what she was doing, so I started fidgeting with my towel and doing a kind of shimmy before taking it off as if to say, "Ok then, here we go!" At that point I decided it wasn't my problem anymore. I'm not shy. Anyway, either the sight of my nakedness was too dazzling for her to behold or she was utterly horrified, because she finally looked away.

* * *

Tuesday the 16th

Who Was Anne's Bitchy Classmate?

Normal One is home for the weekend for her mom's birthday, so I'm here with Creepy Roommate, Queen Bee, and Boy Toy. Apparently the Queen and her Toy must never be further than five feet from one another at any time. God help me.

It seems that all Creepy wants to do is complain about how Queen Bee doesn't spend enough time with her. She is so determined to be Bee's BFF that I think she would kill for the opportunity. Just not me, I hope. That said, her favorite game is Ragging On Queen Bee For Spending More Time With Her Boyfriend Than With Her. She is OBSESSED, and it isn't healthy. Though to be fair I'd probably be driven a little crazy too if I thought someone was my friend because they keep insisting upon how important they are in my life only to find that she blows me off every time we make plans just so she can watch TV with her boyfriend. But I have no desire to be Bee's bosom friend. She is no Dianna to my Anne. She's more like… Anne's bitchy classmate, whoever that was.

But I really don't see how bitching Bee out to me is going to bring Creepy any closer to her.

* * *

Sunday the 21st

A Blueberry The Size Of A Pumpkin

My best friend has come to visit and words can't describe how overjoyed I am to see her.

It's the weekend before Halloween, so we all decided we wanted to do some apple picking and pumpkin carving and get some home-brewed cider 'cuz I guess that's what middle class white ladies do. Creepy Roommate knows a farm we can go to. There's five of us, so I assumed we'd be taking Queen Bee's much more roomy car. We walked out of the quad and I continue on towards the lot where Queen Bee's car is, only to find that my people are going in a different direction. What's this? Oh no… They're all gathering around the blueberry!

The blueberry is My Creepy Roommate's car, a tiny blue buggy.

Never take a ride in the blueberry.

I did this thing where I stopped and put my arms out, and my eyes got real wide and I planted my feet, and I was looking back and forth from them to the better car in the distance. I was so confused. And nauseous. My bff has never been in the blueberry before, but I've told her how much I hate it. I understand that it's the only car she could find where her feet actually reach the petals, but she needs to understand that road rage paired with a car that can literally fit under a truck do not mix well together. She's a pseudo-aggressive driver with a wholly unintimidating car. She also tends to go down one-ways and blast through intersections because she didn't see the red light. Her car is so low to the ground that it picks up every little bump and pothole, and there is so little room in the backseat that my knees are pressed up against my tits and I'm slouching down as low as I can go so my head isn't crammed up against the roof of the car. The only reason we're not taking the Bee's car is because she doesn't feel like driving. Fuck you. I'll be nauseous for days.

We get to the farm and they don't have pumpkins. Thanks a lot. Which means more time in the blueberry driving to another farm.

We get back and after some fresh air I could start with the art. As I suspected would happen, my BFF botched the whole project by carving out the wrong parts so all she had was a gaping hole in the side of her pumpkin. This was after I explained the process several times so she wouldn't mess up. Still, I knew it was going to happen. I love her so much.

Frustrated, she leads a procession outside to smash the pumpkin into the pavement. When that was over I finished carving Lord Voldemort's face. Everyone was disgusted… by how awesome it was! Then I accidently ruined it towards the end, and we smashed The Dark Lord's face into the pavement as well. I guess that makes me a wizarding hero, so the day ended on a good note.

* * *

Wednesday the 31st

The Blackout

This is the first time I've had internet in four days. Happy, Happy Halloween! Feel like Randy Marsh in that South Park episode they did based on The Grapes of Wrath. Gonna go out Cali-forny-way. Heard they had some internet out there. Lol. I've been listening to all of Trey Parker and Matt Stone's commentary for every episode, and I think I'm in love.

I'm avoiding the reason for my post. I feel like I'm about to write an epic ballad and the pressure is making me really anxious.

It began four days ago at around 3 pm.

Queen Bee, Boy Toy, Creepy Roommate and myself were all in the apartment. The Normal One was home for the weekend. This makes me sad. Suddenly, the TV shut itself off along with the two lights we had on. It was snowing outside somethin' fierce. Clearly the power had just gone out. This had happened before, and it usually took a little over an hour to get it back. Quickly I realized that the internet was down too, because when I went to refresh my page, Safari shitted out on me. I did some writing on a word doc, thinking the power would come back long before my laptop died.

How hopeful. How naïve.

Over an hour passed by and the apartment was slowly getting chillier since the heat was cut off. We couldn't cook anything and the food in the freezer and fridge was getting warmer by the minute. So we decided to order a pizza. It just seems like the thing to do during a blackout.

The snowstorm was worsening by the hour, so we were surprised they were actually delivering. I pretended to have a super-obnoxious drunken Valley Girl accent while ordering the pizza, because that's what I do for kicks.

We played charades while waiting for the pizza. Queen Bee sucks ass at this game, and Boy Toy misunderstood the rules and thinks that the actor gains points by giving such obscure hints that the guessers can't figure it out. I wish I could show you the kinds of things they were doing. I only guessed that Boy Toy was doing Transformers because I already knew that would be the first thing he'd want to mime. I suspect that Queen Bee was trying to be bad on purpose, thinking it would look cute. At one point she mimed an abortion with a coat hanger for Dirty Dancing. Funnily enough, that's how I guessed the movie.

Pizza arrived, and by that time it was nearly very completely dark. Our greatest source of light was coming from the orange apocalyptic glow out the windows from the emergency repair vehicles in the distance. Every time I looked out the window I'd say something about the end of days. We had one flashlight, and Boy Toy thought that putting a lampshade over it would make the room brighter. It didn't. When it got even darker we started using the light from our nearly dead computer screens. Still no internet. Still no heat.

Nearing 8 pm.

There's a knock at the door. We'd seen the Red Coats trooping by a few minutes ago, so I suspected it was them with news from the front. (Red Coats is officially my new term for the RAs, who all have red 'Emergency Action' winter coats.) They tell us they're evacuating every dorm on campus. No one has power. And it's not coming back any time soon. The Student Union is the only building with power. That's where the cafeteria is, and that's where every unlucky soul who got stuck on campus will be sleeping. The Red Coats tell us to pack for anything we might need in the next couple of days, but pack light, and be ready to go when they come back in ten minutes.

The Red Coats leave and Creepy and I pack our things lickidy-split. But when we come back downstairs Queenie and Boy Toy are still sitting on the couch looking very solemn. This urks me because Queenie is always taking her sweet-ass time getting ready and always makes everyone else late.

Turns out, she doesn't plan on leaving the apartment. She doesn't seem to realize that it's not an option. It's December and there's no heat and the fridge and freezer are stocked with warming, spoiling foods and the Red Coats are checking every apartment to make sure no one is left inside. So Queenie calls her mom to complain. She does this all the time. Every other week she claims that her parents want to sue the school about one thing or another. Maybe she thinks her Mom can call the school and demand they magically return power to our apartment so she doesn't have to go outside. The Red Coats come back, and while they're a-knockin' I'm telling Queenie that the rest of us are ready to go, so she needs to get her shit together. She straight up pretends she can't hear me as she tries to call her mom back. Boy Toy still needs to go back to his apartment to get a coat and pack some things, but he can't leave until he gets the ok from The Queen, who still thinks she can pull a standoff with the Red Coats. I tell the Red Coats that one of my roommates is having trouble getting ready, hoping they'll force themselves in and drag her ass out, but they give us another five minutes. To someone like Queenie, five minutes roughly translates to "as long as a fucking want to take." The Red Coats are pissed, and understandably so, because some persnickety fuck is making them stand out in a snow blizzard waiting for her to leave so they can do a sweep of the apartment. Queen still hasn't budged, so I decide it's time to leave, at which point Boy Toy rushes back to his apartment to get his shit and Queenie starts hauling ass.

We finally get the fuck outta there and make it to the Student Union. What we saw there was a horror show of epic proportions. It was clear that we were expected to sleep on either the floor or the cafeteria tables, but there were so many people crammed in there that I didn't see how there could be enough room for everyone to lie down. A lot of people weren't wearing shoes. I wondered why. Were they hot? Maybe they just like doing unhygienic things in places where people eat. I suspect that the hipsters were the ones who started the trend. What's more, everyone was sweaty, because they'd trekked over here all bundled up, sweating into their coats and sweaters and boots and hats, only to let their salty, sweaty aura mingle with the mustiness of all the other students there. No one could shower, and even though we were literally in a cafeteria, there wasn't any food. One group brought a Britta filter. Better keep an eye on that, ladies. Others brought gummy snacks. We brought an attitude.

When I was in grade school, for some reason I thought it would be fun to have a giant sleepover at school. I thought it would be like From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, when Claudia and Jamie sneak their way into the Met at night. We'd run around in our pajamas and solve mysteries and everything would seem so much cooler because it was dark and we weren't supposed to be there. It's nothing like that. It was smelly and crowded and loud and the floors were hard and the no shoe thing was really catching on, much to my dismay. It was clear that no one was going to be able to fall asleep, and we sure as hell weren't going to try.

My Creepy Roommate said that we could all drive to her house, which, though an hour away, is closest out of all of us.

We went outside to ask one of the many police officers if the roads were too treacherous for travel.

Officer Mustache wasn't very helpful. Neither was Officer McHotty. They certainly didn't want to tell us that the roads were safe to travel on, because they weren't. But they also must have known that the situation in the Student Union was bad enough to kill oneself over, and where better to do that than on the road to freedom? So they both gave us the same answer, which was, "Uhhhhhmmmm, well… you really shouldn't… I wouldn't… I mean... Maybe?" Well done, officers. Another civilian life saved.

But we braved the storm. Thank god we didn't all cram into My Creepy Roommate's blueberry, because even without a treacherous snowstorm that thing is a deathtrap and as I've said before Creepy isn't a good take the Bee's car.

I think the fastest any car was going on the road was about twenty mph. It ended up taking us over three hours to get to Creep's house.

Get this: Creep's bed vibrates. Yeah, you read right. She had me lay on it while she played with all the different settings: vibrate, massage, etc.

You know how when you play with a cat, you might take a piece of string or yarn or whatever and dangle it in front of the poor creature's face, tickling it's nose, only to yank it away when it swishes out its paw to snatch it? And you laugh because the animal never quite gets it, but for some reason it's amusing as hell to watch it try and fail over and over again. That's how the administration decided to handle our most recent blackout. I'll explain.

I was at Creepy's house for several days after our initial arrival before deciding to call my parents so I could go home for fresh clothes and my own bed. The reason I didn't ask for a ride home sooner? Every time we used Mr. and Mrs. Creepy's internet to check the school's webpage, the notice kept saying "You will be notified by Sunday night at the latest if the University is closed on Monday." Then on Monday: "You will be notified by 5 pm tonight if the University is closed on Tuesday." Then on Tuesday: "You will be notified by 5 pm tonight if the University will be closed for the rest of the week." Five o'clock comes and school's cancelled for the rest of the week, but they had to dangle that string day-by-day. Now that I knew I wouldn't be making my parents drive two hours to get me just to bring me back the next day, I called them and asked to be saved. No more listening awkwardly as Queenie asks Creepy if she and Boy Toy can take a shower together in her parents' bathroom on the second night. No more having to pretend I don't notice when Creepy eavesdrops on Queenie and Boy Toy's whispered conversations from around the corner. No more waking up and finding Queenie laying on top of her Toy. No more watching every movie about penguins that Creepy has in her possession. No more playing endless card games to fill up the silence. No more vibrating bed. Well, actually, that was kind of sweet.

When my dad arrived you bet your ass I was ready to go. He got out of his truck and gave the Mrs. a present my mom had wrapped as a thank you for taking me in. She'd spelled my Roommate's name horrendously wrong, which is funny because it's a really common name. She must have been going by the way my cousin spells it, in a weird Miss America kind of way. I gave my thanks as my dad looked around at the small, freaky ensemble of weirdoes I'd been spending my time with. When we got into the car the first thing he said was, "Why didn't you call sooner?" He was amazed I'd been able to stand them for that long. I explained that I'd called for rescue as soon as I was able. He said that I could've asked to be picked up and driven back the next day, because if it was him he wouldn't have taken any chances on being locked up with all those crazies for more than a day. Darn. At least it gave me something to write about.

* * *

Wednesay the 31st

Oops

So I had a limited amount of clothing with me while I was staying at My Creepy Roommate's house, so I ended up wearing the same shirt two days in a row. I found out at the end of the second day that the shirt I'd been wearing since I arrived was the one that says "Got Vagina?" on the back. Don't know how I missed that. Probably because I was too focused on not killing myself to notice much else. Why did no one tell me? Am I too intimidating? I'd like to think so.

Once I accidently wore it to the Commons to pick up a bagel for breakfast. These two guys were like, "Nice shirt!" and a few minutes later I realized why they were so nice.


	3. November

Tuesday the 6th

Like Every Slasher Film You've Ever Seen

We're back at school. I have mixed feelings about that.

Creepy Roommate has a guy friend who likes to pop in on us every now and then. He doesn't go to school with us, and he has to drive two and a half hours to get here. Creepy Roommate claims he wants more than mere friendship, but she's unavailable. He brings her chocolates and things. Bitch, please. She leads him on because she loves the attention and the fact that she thinks it makes her long-distance, on-the-rocks boyfriend jealous. Maybe it does. But no one should be jealous of this guy. I can see why he's in the friend zone. Actually, he shouldn't even be there.

Often, Creepy Roommate isn't here when he arrives at the door. That's because he refuses to let anyone know when he's coming. I'll just open the door and he'll be standing there. DUN DUN DUNNNNNNN! Queue the screechy music from Psycho. He says he likes to surprise her, but it just ends up putting me out because now I'm stuck waiting in the apartment with Casanov-not until she returns. This time when I opened the door I cut him off in the middle of his hello to tell him very sternly, "She's NOT here!" He'd have known that if he'd thought to tell us he was coming.

"Where is she?" he asks, all confused.

"At a meeting. She won't be back until after nine. You can go to the library and find her if you-"

"No thanks, I'll just wait in here." And he pushes right past me and up the stairs.

Uuuuh, ok?

He's sitting across from me right now, as I write this, staring at my shoes. I told him he could turn on the TV or whatever, and that I need to study for my international politics exam tomorrow (which obviously I'm not doing) so I won't be much of a hostess tonight. (FYI, it's totes rude to force yourself into someone's apartment when the only person you know who lives there isn't home and making a near stranger accommodate your presence only to be totes awkward the whole time.) But he refused my offer and now he's staring into empty space while I pretend to be referencing my textbook as I actually type this up. He could at least follow suit and pretend to be texting or something. I was already set up in the living room and I wasn't moving to my bedroom just because he was there. I can't study up there, anyway. And who leaves some guy alone in their apartment?

I just told him again that it's really ok if he wants to turn on the TV or munch on something from the pantry, but once again he's refused. He's just sitting there like a robot charging his battery. I tell him that she'd probably come back sooner if she knew he was here, so he should definitely call her. Oh no, he doesn't want to do that, because then she wouldn't be surprised when she sees him! "Don't tell her I'm here!" he says with glee. I nod like we're in on a super special secret together.

* * *

Tuesday the 6th

Please, Sir, Don't Murder Me

So, a few minutes after that interaction I excused myself to call My Creepy Roommate so she can get her ass back over here ASAP.

Fortunately, our apartment has two floors, so I can go upstairs to my room to notify Creepy Roommate of Creepy Friend's sudden appearance. The first floor, where he is, is the living room, kitchen and half bath, and the second floor consists of the bedrooms and that weird-ass bathroom. Creepy Friend, having been there before, knows that there's nothing up there but the girls' bedrooms and another bathroom, which he shouldn't need anyway because there's a toilet downstairs and there's no one else in the apartment to occupy it. So needless to say there's no reason for him to be coming up there when Creepy Roommate isn't home. But I'm in my room having just sent out the Red Alert text and all of a sudden I turn around to find Creepy Wants-To-Be-More-Than-Friends Guy standing in the doorway. Just… observing. I've literally never had a conversation with this guy beyond "Hi, how are you?" and the even more frequent "She's not here," and he's just invited himself into my quarters. I wasn't going to pretend to be nice about it, because he was quickly becoming the most annoying of Creepy Roommate's friends, but I also didn't want to get all angry and dramatically throw him out. Not my style.

I wish I could be more of a bitch. I am a bit, but obviously not enough.

So instead I just kind of went, "Ahh, ok…" and left my room, closing the door behind me.

"Just looking," he said. Right. I go downstairs, obviously thinking he'll follow me. But when I get down there I'm all alone. Did he decide to take a look around my room even after I'd closed the door?

Not quite. He was in the room of my other two sweetmates, inspecting the items on their desks. I was like, "What are you doing?" Their door had definitely been shut when I was up there before.

"Just looking around," he said.

Was he not getting the hint? Can anyone be that oblivious? On the other hand, it would be even creepier if he knew what he was doing and was ignoring my none-too-subtle hints to get the fuck out. Then he walks over to one of the girls' beds and picks up a stuffed sea lion. He then proceeds to pet the sea lion while cooing, "Awww, isn't it cute?"

"Uuuumm, actually, I think that she'd be super stoked if you surprised her in the library," I said, unable to find the words to tell him directly how un-ok he was being. "Trust me, because I know she's not going to be back for a while, anyway. Do you need me to tell you how to get there? Have you tried calling her? No? Still want it to be a surprise? Well, better get moving!" I didn't let it go until he was walking out the door.

* * *

Sunday the 11th

The Wrong Trousers

I'm reading in the living room after dinner and Creepy Roommate comes downstairs from her room with a big announcement. She needs to go to her car. She thinks she left a ream of paper in there.

The Normal One is at the dining room table doing her homework and we both look up wondering why Creepy Roommate is making this mundane announcement in such a loud voice. By her tone we know she's got more to say on the matter: "So I have to go to my _caaaaar…" _Wait for it: "And I know you're gonna think I'm _craaaaazy_, but I'm too tired to change so I'm just gonna go out like THIS!"

I look her up and down, trying to figure out what exactly about her appearance is supposed to be so jarring and what facial expression I'm supposed to be making right now. Amused? Shocked? She's wearing pj pants, a zip up sweatshirt and some slippers. Not dissimilar from an outfit I've been known to wear to class on more than one occasion. I feel like a contestant on the world's most boring game show. Is it the slippers? Because her car is just outside in the quad parking lot. There are literally less than twenty parking spaces there and she always hogs the first one. When she doesn't get that first space she becomes a raging piss ant. Tonight, the car is about 100 yards away from our front door, and I don't think even she could complain that that's a long walk.

"Yes, I know, I'm wearing my pajama pants," she says, as if one of us has protested, "Surely you jest! Those are _flannel _trousers! You'll be scrutinized right off of block!"

"I know I'm crazy," she continues. "But I'm gonna do it!" She starts towards the door, but she's walking kind of sideways, like a crab, and going pretty slowly because she's still staring intently at us to gage how amused we are by her antics. I kind of raised my eyebrows and gave her a nod, because I had absolutely nothing to say. But Creepy Roommate must have an inferiority complex because if she doesn't get a zealous reaction to everything she says, she repeats herself over and over again until she does. "I know you're looking at me like I'm crazy right now!" she says, and she goes on and on like that until we give her a little bit more. "Mmmm," says The Normal One, because that's about as enthused as either of us could pretend to be. Creepy Roommate finally exits stage left.

I'd like to know what she thinks is happening when she walks to her car. That every single window curtain in the quad swishes open so everyone can gawk at her with their noses pressed against the glass, pointing and laughing and saying, "Is she wearing _pajamas?_" I think I might envy her if her life is really so calm and boring that she thinks going outside for five minutes in pjs is going to be the highlight of everyone's week.

When she got back we were told the terrible news that the ream of paper was not in her car. Oh noes! She also assured us that she's glad she didn't change into jeans just to go outside, though we must think she's a real character for going out in her flannels.

Neither Normal nor I had said a single word throughout this whole performance.

* * *

Wednesay the 21st

Shoot Me

Creepy Roommate just came downstairs to tell everyone (Normal, Queen, Queen's Boy Toy, and myself) that she knows she's crazy, but she thinks she's gonna… wait for it… make an _iced _coffee even though it's November, which is the time for hot coffee. No one has anything to say to this, but apparently she thought no one heard her because she repeated herself several times before anyone got a little more enthusiastic.

It feels kind of like we're all stuck on a deserted island and need to ban together to stay alive, and Creepy's the one person who seems a little unhinged, only she got to the only loaded gun first – the one that's supposed to be used for hunting – and we have to fake smile and act like we love her just so she won't shoot us.

Then I say, "(Insert real name here), you're the craziest son of a bitch I know!" Creepy missed the sarcasm completely I guess, because at long last she seemed satisfied.

Question: Have you ever had to sit through a terrible live comedian? I would imagine it to be a mixture of pity, discomfort and boredom. Am I right? If you answered yes, did you call said comedian out on his lack of talent and charisma? I would be surprised if you did, because no matter how much it sucks everyone knows in the back of their mind that holding a mirror up to the suckiness can flip the situation from awkward to dangerous. For the sake of everyone's safety, you just let him do his boring, awkward thing and get out of there as soon as an opportunity presents itself.

That's what it feels like with Creepy Roommate. Like we're hostages at a really bad comedy show. I guess there are worse places to be held hostage. Like on an iceberg. Or in a dirty dance club bathroom. Or under a hippopotamus.


	4. December

Tuesday the 4th

Zombies Are Boring

Creepy Roommate is having a problem with Queen Bee. I know because every night for the past week she waits until I'm finally in bed, then closes the bedroom door dramatically and walks slowly over to my bed so she can vent her problems to me. It's all good, I'm a great listener. Mostly because I don't actually do a whole lot of listening. I just nod a lot. You could talk to me for hours about your problems thinking you've finally found someone who sympathizes with you when really I'm mentally sorting through my finances to figure out how much money I need to save before I can buy my own apartment and exactly how long that would take. At this point I really have the fake listening down, because Creepy Roommate has been retelling the same story every night since last Saturday. I know it by heart, but every night she thinks she's telling me something new. Then I say the same old shit and go to sleep.

Sometimes I try to avoid the whole thing by putting my headphones in and staring very intently at my computer, pretending I can't hear her. But I always leave the volume off because I still want to know if she is actually trying to talk to me, because goddamnit I feel bad about ignoring her. The worst part, though, is the couple of seconds leading up to the "talk," when she's walking over to my bed. After closing the door, she turns around very slowly, put hers hands up in the air like she's about to claw something, and makes this wide-eyed, tight-lipped face like she's gonna scream. She doesn't even need the pig's blood to look just like Carry did in that scene where she goes ballistic and uses her telekinesis to murder everybody at the school dance. Then she'll walk over to me with her claws still in the air like she's some kind of zombie, and my heart will start pounding really fast not just because I know I'm gonna have to listen to all the things Queenie did this week that ticked her off, but also because I'm fearing for my life. It looks like she's about to strangle me.

I told her to write down all her feelings in a journal or an anonymous letter. Or a blog. I think maybe she got the hint, because I haven't heard much about Queenie in a while.

* * *

Saturday the 8th

Pixar's Woody Meets Rod Sterling's Talky Tina… what?

Boy Toy keeps buying Queen Bee stuffed animals. They all sit there on her bed in a line-up and I'm reminded of the Christmas Critters episode of South Park where Cartman tells a story about these Disney-esque forest animals from hell. She just added a new one to her stock: an over-stuffed duck-boy. It really does just look like a fat kid with a beak. And it's filled with so much stuffing that it makes for the most uncomfortable toy in the world (I know because Queenie insisted that I hold it to get the full effect of its "cuteness"). I'm pretty sure that if you threw it at somebody it would knock them unconscious.

I told Boy Toy and Queen Bee that it's the ugliest thing I've ever seen, but they treat the thing the way new parents treat their newborn baby. They are so weird.

I feel kind of bad for them, the stuffed animals. I'm sure they never dreamed they'd end up with a kid like Queen Bee. They probably imagined themselves being placed in a spritely five-year-old's bedroom of dreams. Now their hopes have been dashed and their souls dried up and they're just hollow and wasting away. I've made a vow to kill myself before Queen Bee does that to me, although it's probably already begun. She's almost finished sucking all the life out of her Boy Toy. Totally whipped. That has to be the most unattractive thing on the face of the planet.

* * *

Thursday the 20th

Free At Last, Free At Last

It's winter break, which means the only time I have to deal with Queenie is when she sends out her annual mass text on Christmas day, then again on New Year's. She likes to brag that because she lives in New York – state, not city, but she ignores this fact – her holiday experiences are more fun, more quintessentially American than any of ours. Her family has tried so hard to disappear completely into the mendacity of white suburban middle class existence that I'm almost impressed.


End file.
